My Life Next Door
by January83
Summary: The Lynches are everything the Maranos aren't. Loud, messy & affectionate. And, every day from her rooftop perch, Laura wishes she was one of them until one summer evening, Ross Lynch climbs up next to her and changes everything. She then finds herself slowly falling for his charm & there was something about that brunette he couldn't let go of. That summer night changed everything.
1. Chapter 1

**_My Life Next Door_**

**_ " One Summer. One Night. Changed Everything."_**

* * *

><p>The Lynches were forbidden from the start.<p>

But that's not why they were important.

We were standing in our yard that day ten years ago when their battered sedan pulled up to the low-slung shingled house next door, close behind the moving van.

" Oh no," Mom sighed, arms falling to her sides. " I hoped we could have avoided this."

" This-what?" My big sister called from down the driveway. She was eleven at the time, and already restless with Mom's chore of the day, planting Jonquil bulbs in our front garden.

Walking quickly to the picket fence that divided our house from the one next door, she perched on her tiptoes to peer at the new neighbors. I pressed my face to the gap in the slats, watching in amazement as two parents and five children spilled from the sedan, like a clown car at the circus.

" This kind of thing." Mom gestured toward the car with the trowel, twisting her hair into a coil with the other hand. " There's one in every neighborhood. The family that never mows their lawn. Has toys scattered everywhere. The ones who never plant flowers, or do and let them die. Here they are. Right next door."

" You got the bulb wrong, Laura." I switched the bulb around, scooting my knees in the dirt to get closer to the fence, my eyes never leaving the father as he swung a toddler from a car seat while a blonde-haired boy climbed his back.

" They look nice." I said. I remember there was a silence then, and I looked up at my mother. She was shaking her head at me, a strange expression on her face.

" Nice isn't the point here, Laura. You're seven years old. You need to understand what's important. Five children. Good God. Just like your father's family. Insanity." She shook her head again, rolling her eyes heavenward.

I moved closer to Vanessa and edged a fleck of white paint off the fence with my thumbnail. My sister looked at me with the same warning face she used when she was watching TV and I walked up to ask her a question.

" He's cute." she said with a shrug, squinting over the fence again. I looked over to see an older boy unfold himself from the back of the car, baseball mit in hand, reaching back to haul out a cardboard box full of sports gear.

Even then, Vanessa liked to deflect, to forget how hard our mother found being a parent. Our dad had walked away without even a goodbye, leaving mom with a 4 year old, a baby on the way, a lot of disillusionment, and, luckily, her trust fund from her parents.

As the years proved, our new neighbors, the Lynches, were exactly what Mom predicted. Their lawn got mowed sporadically at best. Their Christmas lights stayed hung till Easter. Their backyard was a hodgepodge of an in-ground pool, a trampoline, a swing set, and monkey bars.

Periodically, Mrs. Lynch would make an effort to plant something seasonal, only to leave it to gasp and wither away as she tended to something more important, like her five children.

In the ten years since the Lynches moved next door, Mom hardly ever looked out the side windows of our house without huffing an impatient breath. Too many kids on the trampoline. Bikes abandoned on the lawn. Loud football games. Music blaring.

The older boys washing cars, and spraying each other with hoses. Or singing loudly, while playing their instruments. Mom hated it all.

It was clear from the start that we were not allowed to play with the Lynches. After bringing over the obligatory "welcome to the neighborhood" lasagna, my mother did her best to be very unwelcoming.

She responded to Mrs. Lynche's smiling greeting with cool nods. She rebuffed her offers to mow, sweep up leaves, or shovel snow with a terse. Finally the Lynches stopped trying.

Though they lived right next door and one kid or another might walk past me as I watered Moms flowers, it was easy not to run into them. Their kids went to the local public schools, Vanessa and I attended Hodges, the only private school in our small town.

One thing my mother never knew, and would disapprove of most of all, was that I watched the Lynches. All the time.

Outside of my bedroom window, there's a small flat section of the roof with a tiny fence around it. Not really a balcony, more like a ledge. It's in between two peaked gables, shielded from both the front and backyard, and it faces the right side of the Lynches house.

Even before they came, it was my place to sit and think. But afterward, it was my place to dream.

I'd climb out after bedtime, look through the lit windows, and see Mrs. Lynch doing the dishes, one of the younger kids sitting on the counter next to her. Or Mr. Lynch wresting with the older boys in the living room.

It was like watching a silent film, one so different from the life I lived.

Over the years, I got more daring. I'd sometimes watch during the day, after school, hunched back against the side of the rough gable, trying to figure out which Lynch matched each name I heard called out the screen door. It was tricky, because all most all of them had blonde hair, were tall, with olive skin.

Riker was the easiest to identify- the oldest and the most athletic. Rydel was next in line, she wore bright colors, and liked to dye her hair outlandish colors that my mother would never approve of, so I had her down well.

The middle three boys Rocky, Ross, and Ryland...I couldn't get them straight. I was pretty sure that Rocky was the oldest of the three, but did that mean he was the tallest? Ryland was constantly getting in trouble, " Ryland, how could you?" was the refrain.

And, Ross, always seemed to be missing, his name called longest to come to the dinner table, or pile into the car.

From the hidden perch, I'd peer out the yard, trying to locate Ross, figure out what rebellious act Ryland was doing next, or see what fashionable outfit Rydel was wearing.

The Lynches were my bedtime story, long before I ever thought I'd be part of the story myself.

**_I apologize for this first chapter to be so short, it was more of a prologue I guess you could say. I was I excited to write this after reading one of my all time favorite books, ' My Life Next Door' by Huntely Fitzpatrick. All credits go to her._**

_If you would like me to continue with this story, leave a review, and tell me to. Thanks for reading._

_I also, would like to thank author, Ailee89 for helping me with this. You all should check her out. Although most of you may already know her. Thanks Aileen!_


	2. Chapter 2

**My Life Next Door**

**" A boy. A secret. A choice."**

* * *

><p>On the first sweltering hot night in June, I'm home alone, trying to enjoy the quiet but find myself moving from room to room, unable to settle.<p>

Vanessa's out with Grant, yet another blonde tennis player in her unending series of boyfriends. I can't reach my best friend, Raini, who's been completely distracted with all her part-time jobs. _  
><em>

There's nothing on TV I want to see, and no place in town I feel like going. I tried sitting out on the porch, but at low tide the humid air is overpowering, muddy-scented from the breeze off the river.

So, I'm sitting in out vaulted living room, crunching the ice left over from my seltzer, skimming through Vanessa's stack of magazines.

Suddenly I hear a loud, continuous buzzing sound. As it goes on and on I look around, alarmed, trying to identify it. The dryer? The smoke detector? Finally, I realize it's the doorbell, buzzing and buzzing, on and on and on. I hurry to open the door, expecting—sigh—one of Vanessa's exes, daring after too many strawberry daiquiris at the country club, come to win her back.

Instead, I see my mother, pressed against the doorbell, getting the daylights kissed out of her by some man. When I throw the door open, they half stumble, then he braces his hand on the jamb and just keeps kissing away.

So I stand there, feeling stupid, arms folded, my thin nightgown shifting slightly in the thick air. All around me are summer voices. The lap of the shore far away, the roar of a motorcycle coming up the street, the shhhh of the wind in the dogwood trees. None of those, and certainly not my presence, stop my mom or this guy. Not even when the motorcycle backfires as it peels into the Lyches' driveway, which usually drives Mom crazy.

Finally, they come up for air, and she turns to me with an awkward laugh.

"Laura. Goodness! You startled me."

She's flustered, her voice high and girlish. Not the authoritative "this is how it will be" voice she typically uses at home or the syrup-mixed-with-steel one she wields on the job.

Five years ago, Mom went into politics. Vanessa and I didn't take it seriously at first—we'd hardly known Mom to vote. But she came home one day from a rally charged up and determined to be state senator. She ran, and she won, and our lives changed entirely.

We were proud of her. Of course we were. But instead of making breakfast and sifting through our book bags to be sure our homework was done, Mom left home at five o'clock in the morning and headed to Hartford "before the traffic kicks in."

Vanessa pulled every bad-teenager trick in the book. She played with drugs and drinking, she shoplifted, she slept with too many boys. While I read piles of books, registered Democratic in my mind (Mom's Republican), and spent more time than usual watching the Lynches.

So now tonight, I stand here, stunned into immobility, until they let go of one another. He clears his throat, and steps forward, before extending a hand.

After a man leaves you, pregnant and with toddler, you don't keep his picture on the mantel. We have only few photographs of our dad, and they're all in Vanessa's room. Still I recognize him—the curve of his jaw, the dimples, the shiny wheat.

"Dad?"

Mom's expression morphs from dreamy bedazzlement to utter-shock, as though I've cursed.

The guy shifts away from mom and, moves into the light of the living room, causing me to realize he's much younger, than my father would be now. " Hi there."

" This is Clay Tucker," Mom says, in the reverent tone one might use for Vincent van Gogh or Abraham Lincoln. She turns and gives me reproving look, no doubt for the "Dad" comment, but quickly recovers. " Clay's worked on national campaigns. I'm very lucky he's agreed to help out."

In what capacity?

" I told you Ally was big girl." I blinked I'm a five, two. In Heels."Big Girl" is a stretch. Then I get it. She means old. So I'm guessing she hasn't told him about Vanessa.

"Clay was mighty surprised to find I had teenager." My mother tucks a strand piece of hair away from her face. " He says I look like one myself."

"You're as beautiful as your mother." He says to me, "So now I believe it." He has the kind of Southern accent that makes you think of melting butter on biscuits, and porch swings.

Clay looks around the living room. " What a terrific room," he says. Mom beams. She's proud of our house, renovates rooms all the time, tweaking the already perfect. He then walks around slowly, examining the gigantic paintings of landscapes on the white walls, before taking a seat in front of the fireplace.

I'm shocked. I check mom's face. Her dates always stop at the door. In fact, she's barely dated at all. But Mom doesn't do her usual thing, glance at her watch, say, " Oh, goodness, look at the time," and politely shove him out the door. Instead, she gives him that little girlish laugh again, toys with a pearl earing, and says, "I'll just make coffee."

Once she whirls toward the kitchen, Clay comes up to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. " Seems to me," He says, " You're the kind of girl who'd make the coffee herself and let her mom relax."

My face heats and I take an involuntary step back. Fact is, I usually do make tea for Mom when she comes in late. It's sort of a ritual. But no one has ever told me to do it. Part of me thinks I must have misheard. I met this guy, like, 2 seconds ago. The other part of me feels chagrined, the way I do at school when I've forgotten to do the extra credit math assignment.

I stand there, struggling for a response, and come up blank. Finally I nod, turn, and go to the kitchen. As I measure out coffee grounds, I can hear murmurs and low laughter coming from the living room. Who is this guy? Has Vanessa met him? Guess not, if I'm the big girl.

" Coffee ready yet?" Mom calls, " Clay here could us a pick-me-up. He's been working like a hound dog helping me out."

Hound dog?

"That's right," He says with a broad smile, holding the cup out to me. " It would be nice to get some more in a bigger cup."

Returning to the kitchen a second time, I plunk the mug down in front of Clay. Mom says, "You're going to love Laura. Such a smart girl, this past year she took all AP classes. A pluses in every once. She was on the yearbook staff, the school newspaper, used to be on the swim team...a star, my girl." Mom gives me her real smile, the one that goes all the way to her eyes. I start to smile back.

"Like mother, like daughter." Clay says, and mom's eyes slide back to his face and stay there, transfixed. They exchanged private looks and I wonder if I'm still in the room. Clearly, I'm dismissed. Fine. I'm saved from the distinct possibility I'll lose control and pour Clay's still-hot coffee from his big ol' mug onto his lap. Or pour something really cold on Mom.

I quickly run upstairs into my room, and lie on my bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling fan, before I anxiously open my window and climb out.

As usual, most of the lights are on at the Lynches. Including the ones in the driveway, where Rydel, some of her friends, and a few of the Lynch boys are playing basketball. There may be some of the other kids down the street thrown in there also. It's too hard to tell, they're all jumping around so much, music cranked loud on the IPod speakers perched on he front steps.

I'm no good at basketball, but it looks like fun. I peer in the livingroom window and see Mr. and Mrs. Lynch. She's leaning on the back of his chair, arms folded, looking down at him while he points something out in a magazine.

Then suddenly, I hear voice, right near me. Right below me.

"Hey."

Startled, I almost lose my balance. Then I feel a steadying hand on my arm and hear a rustling sound, as someone, some guy, climbs up on the trellis and onto the roof, my own secret place.

"Hey," he says again, sitting down next to me as though he knows me well. "Need rescuing?"

* * *

><p>Hey everyone, thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews, and I'm sorry to give you yet another short chapter, but don't fret I'll update in 1-2 days, and the next chapter will be both longer, and interesting.<p>

Also, please check out one of my ultimate favorite fanfic authors, Ailee89, she is super amazing, and has always helped me in tough situations, so I would like to do something nice for her, so go check out her work!

Question!

If someone, more specifically a really good looking guy came onto your roof, would you

A. Throw them off

Or

B. Talk to them?

Let me know in your review, and thanks once again for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

**My Life Next Door**

" _**One Summer. One Night. Changed Everything**_."

* * *

><p>"Hey, need rescuing?"<p>

I stare at this boy. He's obviously a Lynch, and not Riker, but which one? Up close, in the light spilling from my bedroom, he looks different from most of the Lynches since he looks more ranger, leaner, with his messy blonde hair.

"Why would I need rescuing? This is my house, my roof."

"I don't know. It just hit me, seeing you there, that you might be like Rapunzel. The princess in the tower thing. All that long blonde hair and...never mind you're a brunette."

"And you'd be?" I know I'm going to laugh if he says "the prince." Instead he answers, "Ross Lynch," reaching for my hand to shake it, as though we're at a college interview rather than randomly sitting together on my roof at night.

"Laura Marano." I settle my hand into his, automatically polite, despite the bizarre circumstances.

"A very princess-y name," he answers approvingly, turning his head to smile at me, with his white teeth.

"I'm no princess."

He gives me a considering look. "You say that emphatically. Is this something important I should know about you?"

This whole conversation is surreal. The fact that Ross Lynch should know, or need to know, anything about me at all is illogical. But instead of telling him that, I find myself confiding,"Well, for example, a second ago I wanted to do bodily harm to someone I'd only just met."

Ross takes a long time to answer, as though weighing his thought and his words. "Well," he responds finally. "I imagine a lot of princesses have felt that way...arrange marriages and all that. Who could know who'd you'd get stuck with?"

"But...is this person you want to injure me? Cause I can take a hint. You can ask me to leave your roof rather than break my kneecaps." He stretches out his legs, folding his arms behind his head, oh-so-comfortable in what is oh-so-not his territory.

Despite this, I find myself taking him all about Clay Tucker. Maybe it's because Vanessa's not home and Moms acting like a stranger. Maybe it's because Raini is 'working'. Or maybe it's something about Ross himself, the way he sits there calmly, waiting to hear the story, as though the hang-ups of some random girl are of interest to him.

At any rate, I tell him.

After I finish, there's a pause.

Finally, out of the half dark, his profile illuminated by the light from my window, he says, "Well Laura...you were introduced to this guy. It went downhill from there. That might make it a justifiable homicide. From time to time, I've wanted to kill people I knew even less well...strangers in supermarkets."

Am I on my roof with a psychopath?

As I start to edge away, he continues. "Those people who walk up to my mom all the time, when she's with our whole crowd, and say, 'You know, there are ways to prevent this.' As if a big family was like, I don't know a forest fire, and they're Smokey Bear."

"The ones who tell my dad about vasectomies and the high cost of college as if he has no clue about any of that. More than once I've wanted to punch them."

Wow. I've never met a boy, at a school, or anywhere, who cut through small talk so quickly.

"It's a good idea to keep your eye on the guys who think they know the one true path," Ross says reflectively."They might just mow you down if you're in their way."

I remember all my own mothers vasectomy and college comments.

"I'm sorry," I say. Ross shifts, looking surprised. "Well, Mom says to pity them, feel sorry for anyone who thinks what they think is right should be some universal law."

"What does your dad say?" I ask.

"He and I are on the same page there. So's the rest of the family. Moms our pacifist." He smiles.

A whoop of laughter sounds from the basketball court. I look over to see some boy grab some girl around her waist, whirling her around, then lowering her and clenching her to him.

"Why aren't you down there?" I ask. He looks at me a long time, again as though considering what to say.

Finally: "You tell me, Laura."

Then he stands up, stretches, says goodnight, and climbs back down the trellis.

What just happened?

* * *

><p>In the morning light, brushing me teeth, doing my same old morning routine, looking at my same old face in the mirror- chocolate brown hair, brown eyes, nothing special- it's easy to believe that it was a dream that I sat out in the darkness in my nightgown talking feelings with a stranger-a Lynch, no less.<p>

During breakfast, I ask Mom where she met Clay Tucker, which gets me no where as she, preoccupied with vacuuming her way out the door, answers only, "At a political event."

Since that's pretty much all she goes to anymore, it hardly narrows things down.

I corner Vanessa in the kitchen as she applies waterproof mascara in the mirror over our wet bar, prepping for a day at the beach with Chris, another boyfriend. and tell her all about last night. Except the Ross-on-the-roof part.

"What's the big deal?" she responds, leaning closer to her reflection. "Mom's finally found someone who turns her on. If he can help the campaign, so much better." She slides her mascera'ed eyes to mine. "Is this all about you and your fear of intimacy?"

I hate it when Vanessa pulls that self-pity, psychoanalytic garbage on me. Ever since her rebellious phase resulted in a year of therapy, she feels qualified to hang out her own shingle.

"No, its about Mom," I insist. "She wasn't herself. If you'd been there, you'd have seen." Vanessa throws open her hands, the gesture taking in our completely updated kitchen, connected to our massive livingroom. They're all too big for three people, too grand, and make God knows what kind of statement. Our house is probably three times the size of the Lynches, and there's like ten of them!

"Why would I be there?" she asks. "What is there for any of us_ here_?"

I want to say, "_I'm_ here." But I see her point. Our house contains all that high-end and high-tech and shiny clean. And three people who would rather be somewhere else.

Late in the evening Clay Tucker decides to have dinner with us. _Yay!_

I silently sit at my respective spot at the dining table with Vanessa, as mom and Clay talk all about her campaign, so I won't bore you with all the details. But, in the end Vanessa received the opportunity to have more time for her, and her unending series of boyfriends. While, I get to life guard this summer.

_Again._

_And, _I get the feeling I'll be seeing a lot of Clay Tucker.

Sadly.

* * *

><p>When I get home from work the next day, sticky from walking back in the summer heat, my eyes immediately turn to the Lynches'. The house seems unusually quiet. I stand there looking, then see Ross in the driveway, lying on his back, doing some kind of work on a huge black-and-silver motorcycle.<p>

I want to say right there that I am by no means the kind of girl who find motorcycles and leather jackets appealing. In the least. Michael Kristoff, with his dark turtle necks and moody poetry, was as close as I've gotten to liking a "bad boy," and he was enough to put me off them for life.

We dated almost all spring, till I realized he was less a tortured artist than just a torture. That said, without planning. I walk right to the end of our yard, around my mother's tall "good neighbor" fence-the six foot stockade she installed a few months after the Lynches moved in-and up the driveway.

"Hi there," I say. _Brilliant opener, Laura._

Ross props himself up on an elbow, looking at me for a minute without saying anything. His face get an unreadable expression, and I wish I could take back walking over. Then he observes, "I'm guessing that's a uniform."

Crap. I'd forgotten I was still wearing it. I look down at myself, in my short blue skirt, puffy white sailor blouse, and jaunty red neck scarf. "Correct." I'm completely embarrassed. He nods, then smiles broadly at me. "It didn't quite say Laura Marano to me somehow. Where on earth do you work?"

He clears his throat. "And why there?"

Ross scrutinizes me in silence for a minute or two, then says, "He must have a rich fantasy life."

I don't know how to respond to this, so I pull one of Vanessa's nonchalant moves and shrug. "It pays well?" Ross asks, reaching for a wrench. "Best tips in town."

"I'll bet."

I have no clue why I'm having this conversation. And no idea how to continue it. He's concentrating on unscrewing something or un-wrenching something or whatever you call it. So I ask, "Is this your motorcycle?"

"My brother Riker's." He stops working and sits up, as though it would be impolite to continue if we're actually carrying on a conversation. "He likes to cultivate the whole 'born to be wild' outlaw image. Prefers it to the jock one, although he is, in fact, a jock. Says he winds up with smarter girls that way."

I nod, as if I'd know. "Does he?"

"I'm not sure." Ross's forehead creases. "The image-cultivation thing has always seemed kind of fake and manipulative to me."

"So, you don't have some persona?" I sit down in the grass next to the driveway. "Nope. What you see is what you get." He grins at me again. What I see, frankly, up close and in daylight, is pretty nice. In addition to the sun-streaked, wavy blonde hair and even white teeth, Ross Lynch has hazel eyes, and one of those quirky mouths that look like their always about to smile.

OI glance around, try to think of something to say. Finally: "Pretty quiet around here today."

"I'm babysitting my cousin."

I look around again. "Where's the baby? In the toolbox?" He tips his head at me, acknowledging the joke. "Naptime," he explains. "Mom's grocery shopping. It takes her hours."

"I'll bet." Prying my eyes from his face, I notice his T-shirt is sticky with sweat at the collar. "Are you thirsty?" I ask.

Broad smile. "I am. But I'm not about to take my life in my hands and ask you to get me something to drink. I know your mom's new boyfriend is a marked man for odering you to serve."

"I'm thirsty too. And hot. My mom makes good lemonade." I stand up and start backing away.

"Laura."

"Uh-huh."

"Come back, okay?"

* * *

><p><strong>Here's a small but longer chapter of this story, and hopefully you all enjoyed it. I shall update soon! Don't forget to watch the new A&amp;A episode tonight!<strong>


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